


Hybern

by shieraseastar03



Series: ACOMAF [14]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Cauldron, Desperation, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Hybern, Self-Sacrifice, Transformation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieraseastar03/pseuds/shieraseastar03





	1. Leaving

Shiera had never worn so much steel. Blades had been strapped all over her, hidden in her boots, her inside pockets. And then there was the Illyrian blade down her back.

  
Just a few hours ago, she had known such overwhelming happiness after such horror and sorrow. Just a few hours ago, she had been in his arms while he made love to her. And now Rhysand, her mate and High Lord and partner, stood beside her in the foyer, Mor, Alec, Azriel and Cassian armed and ready in their scale-like armor, all of them too quiet.

  
Amren said, “The King of Hybern is old, Rhys, very old. Do not linger”.

  
A voice near her chest whispered “Hello lovely, wicked liar”. The two halves of the Book of Breathings, each part tucked into a different pocket. In one of them, the spell she was to say had been written out clearly. She hadn’t dared speak it, though she had read it a dozen times.

  
“We’ll be in and out before you miss us” Rhysand said. Amren studied Shiera's gloved hands and weapons. “That Cauldron” she said, “makes the Book seem harmless. If the spell fails, or if you cannot move it, then leave”.  The princess nodded. Then she turned to Alec, whose arms were out, waiting for her. Cassian and Rhys would winnow with Azriel, her mate dropped off a few miles from the coast before the illyrians found Mor and Shiera seconds later.

  
Shiera moved toward Alec, but Rhys stepped in front of her, his face tense. She wrapped her arms around his waist, rose up on her toes and kissed him. “I’ll be fine, we’ll all be fine” she whispered although they both knew what could happen.

 

His eyes held hers through the kiss, and when she broke away, his gaze went right to Cassian. The general bowed, “With my life, High Lord. I’ll protect her with my life”. Then Azriel nodded, bowing too, and said, “With both of our lives”. It was satisfactory enough to Shiera’s mate, who at last looked at Alec. He nodded once, but said “I know my orders”. Rhys held the blue gaze of his son and finally embraced him in a strong hug. “Be careful, both of you”. His momentary goodbye, to his son and to his mate.

 


	2. Jurian

A warm body slammed into hers, catching Shiera before she could panic and perhaps winnow myself somewhere. “Easy” Alec said, banking right. She looked below to see Mor still plummeting, then winnow again into nothing. No sign or glimmer of Rhys’s presence near or behind them. A few yards ahead, Azriel was a swift shadow over the black water. Toward the landmass we were now approaching. Hybern. No lights burned on it. But it felt… old. As if it were a spider that had been waiting in its web for a long, long time.

  
“I’ve been here twice” Cassian murmured. “Both times, I was counting down the minutes until I could leave”. Shiera could see why. A wall of bone-white cliffs arose, their tops flat and grassy, leading away to a terrain of sloping, barren hills. And an overwhelming sense of nothingness.

  
Amarantha had slaughtered all her slaves rather than free them. She had been a commander here, one of many. If that force that had attacked Velaris was a vanguard… Shiera swallowed, flexing her hands beneath her gloves.

  
“That’s his castle ahead” Cassian said through clenched teeth, swerving. Around a bend in the coast, built into the cliffs and perched above the sea, was a lean, crumbling castle of white stone. Not imperious marble, not elegant limestone, but… off-white. Bone-colored. Perhaps a dozen spires clawed at the night sky. A few lights flickered in the windows and balconies. No one outside, no patrol.

 

“Where is everyone?”. “Guard shift”. They’d planned this around it. “There’s a small sea door at the bottom. Mor will be waiting for us there, it’s the closest entrance to the lower levels”. “I’m assuming she can’t winnow us in”. “Too many wards to risk the time it’d cost for her to break through them. Rhys might be able to. But we’ll meet him at the door on the way out”.

  
Shiera’s mouth went a bit dry. Over her heart, the Book said, Home… Take me home. And indeed she could feel it. With every foot we flew in, faster and faster, dipping down so the spray from the ocean chilled me to my bones, she could feel it. Ancient… cruel. Without allegiance to anyone but itself. The Cauldron. They needn’t have bothered learning where it was held inside this castle. Shiera had no doubt she’d be drawn right to it. She shuddered. “Easy” Alec whispered kindly again and when the princess met his soft gaze, she gave him a grateful smile.

 

They swept in toward the base of the cliffs to the sea door before a platform. Mor was waiting, sword out, the door open. Cassian loosed a breath, but Azriel reached her first, landing swiftly and silently, and immediately prowled into the castle to scout the hall ahead. Mor waited for them, her eyes on Alec as they landed. They didn’t speak, but their glance was too long to be anything but casual. Shiera wondered what their training, their honed senses, detected.

  
The passage ahead was dark, silent. Azriel appeared a heartbeat later. “Guards are down”.

 

There was blood on his knife, an ash knife. Az’s cold eyes met Shiera’s. “Hurry”.

 

* * *

 

The High Lady didn’t need to focus to track the Cauldron to its hiding place. It tugged on her every breath, hauling her to its dark embrace. Any time we reached a crossroads, Cassian , Alec and Azriel would branch out, usually returning with bloodied blades, faces grim, silently warning her to hurry. They’d been working these weeks, through whatever sources Azriel had, to get this encounter down to an exact schedule. If she needed more time than they’d allotted, if the Cauldron couldn’t be moved… it might all be for nothing.

 

But not these deaths. No, those Shiera did not mind at all. These people… These people had hurt Rhys. They’d brought tools with them to incapacitate him. They had sent that legion to wreck and butcher his city, her city now. Velaris. Her home.

  
Shiera descended through an ancient dungeon, the stones dark and stained. Mor kept at her side, constantly monitoring. The last line of defense. If Cassian, Alec and Azriel were hurt, she realized, Mor was to make sure Shiera got out by whatever means. Then return. But there was no one in the dungeon, not that the princess encountered, once the illyrians were done with them. They had executed this masterfully. They found another stairwell, leading down, down, down.

Shiera pointed, nausea roiling. “There. It’s down there”. Cassian took the stairs, illyrian blade stained with dark blood. Neither Mor nor Alec seemed to breathe until Cassian’s low whistle bounced off the stairwell stones from below.  


Mor put a hand on Shiera’s back, and they descended into the dark.

  
Home, the Book of Breathings sighed. Home.

  
Cassian was standing in a round chamber beneath the castle, a ball of faelight floating above his shoulder. And in the center of the room, atop a small dais, sat the Cauldron.

 

* * *

 

The Cauldron was absence and presence. Darkness and… whatever the darkness had come from. But not life. Not joy or light or hope.

 

It was perhaps the size of a bathtub, forged of dark iron, its three legs, those three legs the king had ransacked those temples to find, crafted like creeping branches covered in thorns. They had never seen something so hideous and alluring.

  
Mor’s face had drained of color. “Hurry” she said to the princess. “We’ve got a few minutes”. Azriel scanned the room, the stairs they had strode down, the Cauldron, its legs. Shiera made to approach the dais, but he extended an arm into her path. “Listen”. So they did. Not words. But a throbbing. Like blood pulsed through the room. Like the Cauldron had a heartbeat. Like calls to like.

 

Shiera moved toward it. Mor was at her back, but didn’t stop me as she stepped up onto the dais. Inside the Cauldron was nothing but inky, swirling black. Perhaps the entire universe had come from it.

  
Azriel, Alec and Cassian tensed as she laid a hand on the lip. Pain… Pain and ecstasy and power and weakness flowed into her. Everything that was and wasn’t, fire and ice, light and dark, deluge and drought. The map for creation.

 

Reeling back into herself, she readied to read that spell. The paper trembled as she pulled it from her pocket. As her fingers brushed the half of the Book inside.

  
Sweet-tongued liar, lady of many faces…

  
One hand on half of the Book of Breathings, the other on the Cauldron and the princess took a step outside herself, a jolt passing through her blood as if she was no more than a lightning rod.

  
Yes, you see now, princess of carrion, you see what you must do…

  
“Shiera” Mor murmured in warning. But her mouth was foreign, her lips might as well have been as far away as Velaris while the Cauldron and the Book flowed through her, communing. The other one, the Book hissed. Bring the other one… let us be joined, let us be free.

  
She slid the Book from her pocket, tucking it into the crook of her arm as she tugged the second half free. 

Lovely girl, beautiful bird, so sweet, so generous…

  
Together, together, together.

  
“Shiera”. Mor’s voice cut through the song of both halves.

  
Amren had been wrong. Separate, their power was cleaved, not enough to take on the abyss of the Cauldron’s might. But together… Yes, together, the spell would work when she spoke it. Whole, Shiera would become not a conduit between them, but rather their master. There was no moving the Cauldron, it had to be now. Realizing what she was about to do, Mor lunged for her with a curse.

   
Too slow.

  
She laid the second half of the Book atop the other. A silent ripple of power hollowed out her ears, buckled her bones. Then nothing.

  
From far away, Mor said, “We can’t risk...”. “Give her a minute” Alec cut her off.

Shiera was the Book and the Cauldron and sound and silence. She was a living river through which one flowed into the other, eddying and ebbing, over and over, a tide with no end or beginning.

  
The spell… The words...

  
She looked to the paper in her hand, but her eyes did not see, her lips did not move. The princess was not a tool, not a pawn. She would not be a conduit, not be the lackey of these things… She had memorized the spell. She would say it, breathe it, think it… From the pit of her memory the first word formed. She slogged toward it, reaching for that one word, that one word that would be a tether back into herself, into who she was…

  
Strong hands tugged her back, wrenching her away.

  
Murky light and moldy stone poured into her, the room spinning as she gasped down breath, finding Alec shaking her, eyes so wide she could see the white around them. What had happened, what…

  
Steps sounded above. Alec instantly shoved her behind him, bloodied blade lifting. The movement cleared her head enough to feel something wet and warm trickle down her lip and chin. Blood… Her nose had been bleeding.

  
But those steps grew louder, and her friends had their weapons angled as a handsome brown-haired male swaggered down the steps. Human, his ears were round. But his eyes… Shiera knew the color of those eyes. She had stared at one, encased in crystal, for three months.

  
“Stupid fool” he said to her.

  
“Jurian” she breathed.


	3. Ash bolt

She gauged the distance between her friends and Jurian, weighed her sword against the twin ones crossed over his back. Cassian took a step toward the descending warrior and snarled, “You”. Jurian snickered. “Worked your way up the ranks, did you? Congratulations”.

  
Shiera felt him sweep toward them. Like a ripple of night and wrath, Rhys appeared at her side. The Book was instantly gone, his movement so slick as he took it from her and tucked it into his own jacket that she barely registered it had happened. But the moment that metal left her hands… Mother above, what had happened? She had failed, failed so completely, been so pathetically overwhelmed by it…

  
“You look good, Jurian” Rhys said, strolling to his son's side, casually positioning himself between Shiera and the ancient warrior. “For a corpse”. “Last time I saw you” Jurian sneered, “you were warming Amarantha’s sheets”.

 

The High Lord noticed how his son stopped to breath, wondering if Jurian was saying the truth. But Rhysand said nothing.

 

Jurian’s eyes sliced to Mor. “Where is Miryam?”. “She’s dead” Mor said flatly. The lie that had been told for five hundred years. “She and Drakon drowned in the Erythrian Sea.” The impassive face of the princess of nightmares. “Liar” Jurian crooned. “You were always such a liar, Morrigan”. Azriel growled, the sound unlike any Shiera had heard from him before. Jurian ignored him, chest starting to heave. “Where did you take Miryam?”. “Away from you” Mor breathed. “I took her to Prince Drakon. They were mated and married that night you slaughtered Clythia. And she never thought of you again”.

  
Wrath twisted his tan face. Jurian, hero of the human legions… who along the way had turned himself into a monster as awful as those he’d fought.

  
Rhys made his son come closer as he reached back to grab Shiera’s hand. They had seen enough. The princess gripped the rim of the Cauldron again, willing it to obey, to come with them and braced for the wind and darkness. Only they didn’t come.

  
Mor gripped Cassian and Azriel’s hands, and stayed still. Jurian smiled. Rhysand drawled, hand tightening in Shiera’s, “New trick?”. Jurian shrugged. “I was sent to distract you, while he worked his spell”. His smile turned lupine. “You won’t leave this castle unless he allows you to. Or in pieces”. Shiera’s blood ran cold. Cassian, Alec and Azriel crouched into fighting stances, but Rhys cocked his head. The princess felt his dark power rise and rise, as if he’d splatter Jurian then and there. But nothing happened. Not even a brush of night-flecked wind.

  
“Then there’s that” Jurian said. “Didn’t you remember? Perhaps you forgot. It was a good thing I was there, awake for every moment, Rhysand. She stole his book of spells to take your powers”.

  
Inside Shiera, like a key clicking in a lock, that molten core of power just… halted. Whatever tether to it between her mind and soul was snipped. No, squeezed so tight by some invisible hand that nothing could flow.

  
Shiera reached for Rhys’s mind, for the bond… And she slammed into a hard wall. Not of adamant, but of foreign, unfeeling stone.

  
“He made sure” Jurian went on as the princess banged against that internal wall, tried to summon her own gifts to no avail, “that particular book was returned to him. She didn’t know how to use half of the nastier spells. Do you know what it is like to be unable to sleep, to drink or eat or breathe or feel for five hundred years? Do you understand what it is like to be constantly awake, forced to watch everything she did?”. It had made him insane, tortured his soul until he went insane. That’s what the sharp gleam was in his eyes.

  
“It couldn’t have been so bad” Rhys said, even as Shiera knew he was unleashing every ounce of will on that spell that contained them, bound them, “if you’re now working for her master”. A flash of too-white teeth. “Your suffering will be long, and thorough”. “Sounds delightful” Rhys let out, now turning us from the room. A silent shout to run.

  
But someone appeared atop the stairs.

  
Shiera knew him, in her bones. The shoulder-length black hair, the ruddy skin, the clothes that edged more toward practicality than finery. He was of surprisingly average height, but muscled like a young man. But his face, which looked perhaps like a human man in his forties… Blandly handsome. To hide the depthless, hateful black eyes that burned there.

  
The King of Hybern said “The trap was so easy, I’m honestly a bit disappointed you didn’t see it coming”.

  
Faster than any of them could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel’s chest and Mor screamed.

 


	4. Tamlin

They had no choice but to go with the king. The ash bolt was coated in bloodbane that the King of Hybern claimed flowed where he willed it. If they fought, if they did not come with him upstairs, the poison would shoot to his heart. And with their magic locked down, without the ability to winnow… If Shiera could somehow get to Azriel, give him a mouthful of her blood… But it’d take too long, require too many moving parts.

  
Cassian and Rhys hauled Azriel between them, his blood splattering on the floor behind them as they went up the twisting stairways of the king’s castle. Shiera tried not to step in it as Alec stood by her side, protecting her just in case and Mor followed behind, Jurian at their backs.

 

Mor was shaking, trying hard not to, but shaking as she stared at the protruding end of that arrow, visible between the gap in Azriel’s wings. None of them dared strike the King of Hybern where he stalked ahead, leading the way. He’d taken the Cauldron with him, vanishing it with a snap of his fingers and a wry look at the Princess of Adriata.

 

They knew the king wasn’t bluffing. It’d take one move on their part for Azriel to die.

  
The guards were out now and courtiers. High Fae and creatures who smiled like we were their next meal. Their eyes were all dead. Empty. No furniture, no art. As if this castle were the skeleton of some mighty creature. The throne room doors were open, and Shiera balked.

 

A throne room, the throne room that had honed Amarantha’s penchant for public displays of cruelty. Faelights slithered along the bone-white walls, the windows looking out to the crashing sea far below.

  
The king mounted a dais carved of a single block of dark emerald, his throne assembled from the bones of… Shiera felt the blood drain from her face. Human bones. Brown and smooth with age.

  
They stopped before it, Jurian leering at their backs. The throne room doors shut.

  
The king said to no one in particular, “Now that I’ve upheld my end of the bargain, I expect you to uphold yours”. From the shadows near a side door, two figures emerged. Shiera began shaking her head as if she could unsee it as Lucien and Tamlin stepped into the light.

 


	5. Two sisters

Rhysand went still as death. Cassian snarled. Hanging between them, Azriel tried and failed to lift his head. But Shiera was staring at Tamlin, at that face she had hated so deeply as he halted a good twenty feet away from them and she felt how Alec got even closer to her, his body a muscled wall to protect her if Tamlin dared to do something against his father’s mate.

  
Tamlin wore his bandolier of knives, illyrian hunting-blades, Shiera realized. His golden hair was cut shorter, his face more gaunt than she had last seen it. And his emerald eyes… Wide as they scanned her from head to toe. Wide as they took in her fighting leathers, the illyrian  sword and knives, the way she stood within her group of friends, her family.

 

He’d been working with the King of Hybern. “No” she breathed but Tamlin dared one more step closer, staring at her as if she was a ghost. Lucien, metal eye whirring, stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “No” she said again, this time louder. “What was the cost” Rhysand said softly from her side. Shiera clawed and tore at the wall separating their minds; heaved and pulled against that fist stifling her magic. Tamlin ignored him, looking at the king at last. “You have my word”. The king smiled and Shiera took a step toward Tamlin. “What have you done?” she demanded in a deathly way.

  
The King of Hybern said from his throne, “We made a bargain. I give you over, and he agrees to let my forces enter Prythian through his territory. And then use it as a base as we remove that ridiculous wall”.

  
The princess shook her head. Lucien refused to meet the pleading stare she threw his way. “You’re insane” Cassian hissed. Tamlin held out a hand. “Shiera”. An order, like she was no better than a summoned dog. She felt Alec and Rhys’ muscles tightening instantly but Shiera made no movement. She nearly wanted to laugh. Go with him… She had to get free; had to get that damn power free.

  
“You” the king said, pointing a thick finger at her, “are a very difficult female to get ahold of. Of course, we’ve also agreed that you’ll work for me once you’ve been returned home to your husband, but… Is it husband-to-be, or husband? I can’t remember”.

 

Shiera tightened her fists and felt her cold silver ring. Her husband was dead, he had been murdered.

  
Lucien glanced between them all, face paling. “Tamlin” he murmured. But Tamlin didn’t lower the hand stretched toward the princess. “I’m taking you home”.

 

That’s not my home, that damned prison is not my home. My home is Adriata, my home is Velaris… She backed up a step, toward where Rhysand still held Azriel with Cassian.

  
“There’s that other bit, too. The other thing I wanted” the king went on. “Well, Jurian wanted. Two birds with one stone, really. The High Lord of Night dead and to learn who his friends were. It drove Jurian quite mad, honestly, that you never revealed it during those fifty years. So now you know, Jurian. And now you can do what you please with them”.

  
Around Shiera, her family were tense, taut. Even Azriel was subtly moving a bloody, scarred hand closer to his blades. His blood pooled at the edge of her boots. Then she said steadily, clearly, to Tamlin, “I’m not going anywhere with you”. “You’ll say differently, my dear” the king countered, “when I complete the final part of my bargain”.

  
Horror coiled in her gut.

  
The king jerked his chin at her left arm. “Break that bond between you two”. Rhys managed to stay calm but saw how his mate went pale as death. “How else is Tamlin to have his bride? He can’t very well have a wife who runs off to another male once a month”. Rhys remained silent, though his grip tightened on Azriel. Observing, weighing, sorting through the lock on his power. The thought of that silence between their souls being permanent…  


Her voice cracked as Shiera said to Tamlin, still at the opposite end of the crude half circle they had formed before the dais, “Don’t. Don’t let him. I told you… I told you that I was fine. That I left...”. “You weren’t well, you were insane with grief” Tamlin snarled. “He used that bond to manipulate you. Why do you think I was gone so often? I was looking for a way to get you free. And you left”.

  
“I left because I was going to die in that house!” she yelled, “You locked me and I… I wanted to die… Do you know what is that? And still you locked me. You knew I was completely broken inside and you broke me even more!”.

 

The King of Hybern clicked his tongue. “Not what you expected, is it?”. Tamlin growled at him, but again held out his hand toward the princess. “Come home with me. Now”.  “No”. “Come” he repeated. “Which part didn’t you understand? I won’t go with you”.

  
“Shiera”. An unflinching command.

 

Rhys was barely breathing, barely moving. And she realized… realized it was to keep his scent from becoming apparent. Their scent. Their mating bond.

  
Jurian’s sword was already out and he was looking at Mor as if he was going to kill her first. Azriel’s blood-drained face twisted with rage as he noticed that stare. Cassian, still holding him upright, took them all in, assessing, readying himself to fight, to defend.

 

Tamlin’s face contorted with wrath. “They’re monsters. They’re...”. He didn’t finish as he stalked across the floor to grab Shiera. To drag her out of here, then no doubt winnow away. Tamlin lunged for her over the few feet that remained. So fast, too fast… But fortunately Alec moved faster and Shiera and him became mist and shadow. He winnowed her beyond his reach. The king let out a low laugh as Tamlin stumbled and went sprawling as Rhysand’s fist connected with his face.

  
Panting, she retreated right into Rhysand’s arms as one looped around her waist, as Azriel’s blood on him soaked into her back. Behind them, Mor leaped in to fill the space Rhys had vacated, slinging Azriel’s arm over her shoulders and Alec joined her. But that wall of hideous stone remained in her mind, and still blocked Rhys’s own power.

 

Tamlin rose, wiping the blood now trickling from his nose as he backed to where Lucien held his position with a hand on his sword. But just as Tamlin neared his Emissary, he staggered a step. His face went white with rage. And Shiera knew Tamlin understood a moment before the king laughed. “I don’t believe it. Your bride left you only to find her mate. The Mother has a warped sense of humor, it seems. And what a talent… Tell me, girl: how did you managed to become a wife, bride and mate to three different High Lords?”.

 

Tamlin’s eyes were on Rhysand, his face near-feral. “You” he snarled, the sound more animal than Fae. “What did you do to her?”.

  
Behind them, the doors opened and soldiers poured in. Some looked like the Attor. Some looked worse. More and more, filling up the room, the exits, armor and weapons clanking.

  
Mor, Alec and Cassian, Azriel sagging and heavy-lidded between them, scanned each soldier and weapon, sizing up our best odds of escape.

 

Shiera left them to it as Rhys and she faced Tamlin. “I’m not going with you” she spat at Tamlin. “You spineless, stupid fool for selling us out to him! Do you know what he wants to do with that Cauldron?”. “Oh, I’m going to do many, many things with it” the king said and the Cauldron appeared again between them. “Starting now”.

  
Kill him kill him kill him.

  
Shiera could not tell if the voice was hers or the Cauldron’s. She didn’t care. She unleashed herself. Talons and wings and shadows were instantly around her , surrounded by water and fire… Then they vanished, stifled as that invisible hand gripped her power again, so hard she gasped. “Ah” the king said to her, clicking his tongue, “that. Look at you. A child of all seven Courts, like and unlike all. How the Cauldron purrs in your presence. Did you plan to use it? Destroy it? With that book, you could do anything you wished”.

  
Shiera didn’t say anything. The king shrugged. “You’ll tell me soon enough”. “I made no bargain with you”. “No, but your master did, so you will obey”. Molten rage poured into her and hissed at Tamlin “If you bring me from here, if you take me from my mate, I will destroy you. I will destroy your Court, and everything you hold dear”.

  
Tamlin’s lips thinned. But he said simply, “You don’t know what you’re talking about”. Lucien cringed. The king jerked his chin to the guards by the side door through which Tamlin and Lucien had appeared. “No… She doesn’t”. The doors opened again. “There will be no destroying” the king went on as people… As women walked through those doors.

  
Four women. Four humans. The four remaining queens.

  
“Because” the king said, the queens’ guards falling into rank behind them, hauling something in the core of their formation, “you will find, Shiera Cursebreaker, that it is in your best interest to behave”. The four queens sneered at them with hate in their eyes. Hate. And parted to let their personal guards through.

 

Sudden fear entered Shiera’s heart as the men dragged Nesta and Elain, gagged and bound, before the King of Hybern.


	6. The Cauldron

Elain was quietly sobbing, the gag soaked with her tears. Nesta, hair disheveled as if she’d fought like a wildcat, was panting as she took us in. Took in the Cauldron.

  
“You made a very big mistake” the king said to Rhysand, Shiera’s mate’s arms banded around her, “the day you went after the Book. I had no need of it. I was content to let it lie hidden. But the moment your forces started sniffing around… I decided who better than to be my liaison to the human realm than my newly reborn friend, Jurian? He’d just finished all those months of recovering from the process, and longed to see what his former home had become, so he was more than happy to visit the continent for an extended visit”.

  
Indeed the queens smiled at him, bowed their heads. Rhys’s arms tightened in silent warning.

 

“The brave, cunning Jurian, who suffered so badly at the end of the War, now my ally. Here to help me convince these queens to aid in my cause. For a price of his own, of course, but it has no bearing here. And wiser to work with me, my men, than to allow you monsters in the Night Court to rule and attack. Jurian was right to warn their Majesties that you’d try to take the Book, that you would feed them lies of love and goodness, when he had seen what the High Lord of the Night Court was capable of. The hero of the human forces, reborn as a gesture to the human world of my good faith. I do not wish to invade the continent, but to work with them. My powers ensconced their court from prying eyes, just to show them the benefits”.

 

A smirk at Azriel, who could hardly lift his head to snarl back. “Such impressive attempts to infiltrate their sacred palace, Shadowsinger… And utter proof to their Majesties, of course, that your court is not as benevolent as you seem”.

  
“Liar” Shiera hissed, and whirled on the queens, daring only a step away from Rhys. “They are liars, and if you do not let… my sisters go, I will slaughter...”. “Do you hear the threats, the language they use in the Night Court?” the king said to the mortal queens, their guards now around us in a half circle. “Slaughter, ultimatums… They wish to end life. I desire to give it”.

  
The eldest queen said to him, refusing to acknowledge Shiera, herwords, “Then show us, prove this gift you mentioned”. Rhysand tugged Shiera back against him as he said quietly to the queen, “You’re a fool”. The king cut in, “Is she? Why submit to old age and ailments when what I offer is so much better?”. He waved a hand toward Shiera. “Eternal youth. Do you deny the benefits? A mortal queen becomes one who might reign forever. Of course, there are risks, the transition can be… difficult. But a strong-willed individual could survive”.

  
The youngest queen, the dark-haired one, smiled slightly. Arrogant youth, and bitter old age. Only the two others, the ones who wore white and black, seemed to hesitate, stepping closer to each other and their towering guards. The ancient queen lifted her chin, “Show us. Demonstrate it can be done, that it is safe.” She had spoken of eternal youth that day, had spat in my face about it. Two-faced bitch.

 

The king nodded. “Why did you think I asked my dear friend Ianthe to see who Shiera Archeron would appreciate having with her for eternity?”. The princess glanced at the queens, the question no doubt written on her face. The king explained, “Oh, I asked them first. They deemed it too… uncouth to betray two young, misguided women. Ianthe had no such qualms. Consider it my wedding present for you both” he added to Tamlin but Tamlin’s face tightened. “What?”.

 

The king cocked his head, savoring every word. “I think the High Priestess was waiting until your return to tell you, but didn’t you ever ask why she believed I might be able to break the bargain? Why she had so many musings on the idea? So many millennia have the High Priestesses been forced to their knees for the High Lords. And during those years she dwelled in that foreign Court… such an open mind, she has. Once we met, once I painted for her a portrait of a Prythian free of High Lords, where the High Priestesses might rule with grace and wisdom… She didn’t take much convincing”.

  
Lucien’s face had slackened. “She sold out… She sold out Shiera’s family. To you”. The princess had told Ianthe everything about nesta and Elain when she had asked. Asked who they were, where they lived. And Shiera had been so stupid, so broken… She had fed her every detail. “Sold out?” the king snorted. “Or saved from the shackles of mortal death? Ianthe suggested they were both strong-willed women, like their sister. No doubt they’ll survive. And prove to our queens it can be done. If one has the strength”.

  
Shiera’s heart stopped, thinking about Elain and her fiancé. “Don’t you…”. The king cut her off, “I would suggest bracing yourselves”.

  
And then hell exploded in the hall.

  
Power, white and unending and hideous, barreled into them.

  
All Shiera knew was Rhysand’s body covering hers as they were all thrown to the floor, the shout of pain as he took the brunt of the king’s power. Alec yelled in pure pain when he covered Mor with his body as Cassian twisted, wings flaring wide as he shielded Azriel. And his wings… his wings… Cassian’s scream as his wings shredded under talons of pure magic was the most horrific sound Shiera had ever heard. Mor and Alec surged for him, but too late. Rhys was moving in an instant, as if he’d lunge for the king, but power hit them again, and again. Rhys slammed to his knees.

  
Nesta and Elain were shrieking over their gags. But Elain’s cry, a warning. A warning to... To Shiera’s right, now exposed, Tamlin ran for her. To grab her at last.

  
Shiera hurled a knife at him as hard as she could. He had to dive to miss it. And he backed away at the second one she had ready, gaping at her, at Rhys, as if he could indeed see the mating bond between them. But Shiera whirled as soldiers pressed in, cutting us off. Whirled, and saw Cassian and Azriel on the ground, Jurian laughing softly at the blood gushing from Cassian’s ravaged wings… Shreds of them remained.

  
The princess scrambled for him. Her blood. It might be enough, be…

  
Mor, on her knees beside Cassian, hurtled for the king with a cry of pure wrath. He sent a punch of power to her. She dodged, a knife angled in her hand, avoiding Alec who tried to stop her and… Azriel cried out in pain. Mor froze. Stopped a foot from the throne. Her knife clattered to the floor.

 

The king rose. “What a mighty queen you are” he breathed and Mor backed away. Step by step. “What a prize” the king said, that black gaze devouring her. Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her”. Mor looked at Azriel, and there was real fear there. Fear, and something else. She didn’t stop moving until she again kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed, but covered her bloody fingers with his own.

  
Rhys positioned himself between Shiera and the king as she dropped to her knees before Cassian. Alec shielding her as the princess ripped at the leather covering her forearm.

  
“Put the prettier one in first” the king said. Shiera twisted only to have the king’s guards grab her from behind. Rhys and his son were instantly there, but Azriel shouted, back arching as the king’s poison worked its way in. “Please refrain” the king said, “from getting any stupid ideas, Rhysand”. He smiled at Shiera. “If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies. Pity about the other brute’s wings”.

 

He gave Nesta and Elain a mockery of a bow. “Ladies, eternity awaits. Prove to their Majesties the Cauldron is safe for… strong-willed individuals”.

 

Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward. Toward the Cauldron. Nesta began thrashing against the men that held her. Then Tamlin said “Stop”. The king did no such thing. Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this”.

  
Nesta was bellowing at the guards, at the king, as Elain yielded step after step toward that Cauldron. As the king waved his hand, and liquid filled it to the brim. The queens only watched, stone-faced. And Rhys and Alec, separated from Shiera by those guards, did  
not dare to even shift a muscle.

  
Tamlin spat at the king, “This is not part of our deal. Stop this now”. “I don’t care” the king said simply. Tamlin launched himself at the throne, as if he’d rip him to shreds. That white-hot magic slammed into him, shoving him to the ground. Leashing him. Tamlin strained against the collar of light on his neck, around his wrists. His golden power flared, to no avail.

 

Shiera tore at the fist still gripping her own, sliced at it, over and over…

  
Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down…

  
“That is enough”. Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron and the king’s power leashed him, too. On the ground beside Tamlin, his single eye wide, Lucien had the good sense to look horrified as he glanced between Elain and the High Lord. “Please” Shiera begged the king, who motioned Elain to be shoved into the water. “Please… You do not need proof, I am proof that it works and Jurian is proof it is safe”. The ancient queen just replied “You are a thief, and a liar. You conspired with our sister. Your punishment should be the same as hers. Consider this a gift instead”.

 

Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed, screamed in terror. Nesta was still fighting, still roaring through her gag. Elain, who Nesta would have killed and whored and stolen for. Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries… The guards shoved her into the Cauldron in a single movement. Elain’s head went under and she did not come up.

  
Nesta’s screaming was the only sound. Cassian blindly lurched toward it, toward her, moaning in pain.

  
The King of Hybern bowed slightly to the queens. “Behold”.

  
Rhys, a wall of guards still cleaving them, curled his fingers into a fist. But he did not move, as Mor and Shiera did not dare move, not with Azriel’s life dangling in the king’s grasp.

  
And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale, so delicate.

 

Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live… Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at Shiera… Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears… Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.

  
The queens gasped. And for a moment, all Shiera could think of was Elain and Nesta’s father. What he would do, what he would say, when his most beloved daughter looked at him with a Fae face.

 

“So we can survive” the dark-haired youngest breathed, eyes bright. “The hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind” the King of Hybern said. The Cauldron righted itself. Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor, but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta.

  
Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered. Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor...”.

  
There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as… As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

The guards hauled Nesta toward the Cauldron.

There were different kinds of torture, Shiera realized. There was the torture that Shiera had endured, that Rhys had endured. And then there was this.

  
The torture that Rhys had worked so hard those fifty years to avoid; the nightmares that haunted him since his wife had been murdered. To be unable to move, to fight… while their loved ones were broken. Shiera’s eyes met with those of her mate. Agony rippled in that violet stare, rage and guilt and utter agony. The mirror to her own.

 

Nesta fought every step of the way. She did not make it easy for them. She clawed and kicked and bucked. And it was not enough. And they were not enough to save her. The princess watched as she was hoisted up. Elain remained shuddering on the ground, Lucien’s coat draped around her. She did not look at the Cauldron behind her, not as Nesta’s thrashing feet slammed into the water.

  
Cassian stirred again, his shredded wings twitching and spraying blood, his muscles quivering. At Nesta’s shouts, her raging, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing, an answer to some call in his blood, a promise he’d made her. But pain knocked him under again.

 

Nesta was shoved into the water up to her shoulders. She bucked even as the water sprayed. She clawed and screamed her rage, her defiance.

 

“Put her under” the king hissed. The guards, straining, shoved her slender shoulders, her brown-gold head. And as they pushed her head down, she thrashed one last time, freeing her long, pale arm. Teeth bared, Nesta pointed one finger at the King of Hybern. One finger, a curse and a damning. A promise.

  
And as Nesta’s head was forced under the water, as that hand was violently shoved down, the King of Hybern had the good sense to look somewhat unnerved. Dark water lapped for a moment. The surface went flat. Elain vomited on the floor.

 

The bonds on Tamlin vanished, along with the gag. He was instantly on his feet, snarling at the king. Even the fist on Shiera’s mind lightened to a mere caress. As if he knew he’d won. But she didn’t care. Not as Nesta was sprawled upon the stones. Shiera knew that she was different. From however Elain had been Made… Nesta was different. Even before she took her first breath, Shiera felt it. As if the Cauldron in making her… had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought even after she went under, and had decided that if she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking that Cauldron with her. As if that finger she’d pointed was now a death-promise to the King of Hybern.

 

Nesta took a breath. And when Shiera beheld her, with her somehow magnified beauty, her ears… When Nesta looked to her… Rage. Power. Cunning. Then it was gone, horror and shock crumpling her face, but she didn’t pause, didn’t halt. She was free, she was loose. She was on her feet, tripping over her slightly longer, leaner limbs, ripping the gag from her mouth… Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her!”.

 

Elain’s feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain’s face, her shoulders, her hair. “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed. Cassian again stirred, trying to rise, to answer Nesta’s voice as she held her sister and cried her name again and again.

  
But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien, whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

 

Nesta whirled on him. “She is no such thing” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch. His face was pale as death as he stared at Elain. She said nothing,  
the iron ring glinting dully on her finger. The King of Hybern murmured, “Interesting. So very interesting”. He turned to the queens. “See? I showed you not once, but twice that it is safe. Who should like to be Made first? Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too”.


	7. The whip

Rhysand had gone still as death at the sight of Alec, his focus, and horror, on his son. On the sentry holding the blade against his white neck.

 

“Let her go” Tamlin demanded, “Do whatever you want to the male but do not dare to touch her”. That face remained cold and impassive. A small, breathy laugh. That adder’s smile curled the king’s lips again. The rest of the king’s escort remained distant, but it was to the escort that Rhys kept glancing, his face tight, his own body near-shaking with restrained wrath.

 

“Please, don’t” Alec pleaded, looking at Shiera but the king growled at him, “Be quiet”. And Alec thought the impact of Shiera’s knees hitting the marbled floor might have been the most horrible sound he’d ever heard.

 

There was nothing Rhysand could do as Shiera screamed. As that ancient power struck her like a hammer over an anvil. The princess tried to rise. Tried, but her legs had given out. The Princess of Adriata and High Lady of the Night Court panted.

 

“Let her go” Lucien growled at the king, advancing a step. “Let her go now”. “Please” Rhysand said, “Leave them out of this”. But the king let the darkness around Shiera’s part. She was curled on her side, bleeding from both nostrils now, more blood dribbling from her panting mouth. Tamlin lunged for her but a wall of black slammed up between them. “I don’t think so” the king crooned.

 

“Shiera Cursebreaker” the king mused. “So much talk about Shiera Cursebreaker. The Princess of Adriata…”.

 

Invisible hands cut the tethers on Shiera’s sword belts. The sword thunked to the ground. Then daggers slid from their sheaths. “So many weapons” the king contemplated as the invisible hands disarmed Shiera with brutal efficiency. Even blades hidden beneath clothes found their way out, slicing as they went. Blood bloomed beneath Shiera’s shirt and pants.

 

The king lifted a hand. Two brown-haired warriors walked toward them from the cluster of escorts. Handsome, if it weren’t for the sadistic cruelty singing in their eyes. If it wasn’t for the blades at their sides, the whip curled along one hip, the sneering smile. “Varik, Arne” the king said, “are trained in abilities that they have learned in his centuries of practicing. You will have the honor to be witness of them”.

 

Alec was pale with rage. “Please, I beg you...”. Darkness slammed into him,  “That is enough” the king hissed as the blade made a small cut in his neck.

 

“No” Rhys let out, his worst nightmares coming true. “No to what, Rhysand?. “They are innocent. Take me and let everyone else go”. The king drawled to the High Lord, “I command you to stand down. I command you to watch and do nothing. I command you to not move or speak until I say so. Or this handsome male” he spoke, pointing with his head to Alec, “Will die, along with your shadowsinger”.

 

Rhys found the king smiling at him. He had played, and gambled, and lost. The king of Hybern nodded as if to say yes.

 

Arne and Varik grinned as the escorts hauled something up the hall.

 

Rhysand faced the king, who did not deign to glance his way. “Please, please...”. Shiera simply nodded at the king. Her acceptance and surrender. The king bowed her head, triumph dancing on his lips. Tamlin begged the king one last time, “Don’t do this”.

 

The king drawled to Shiera, “Rumor claims you will bow to no one, Princess of Adriata”, that serpentine smile. “But you bowed to my dear Amarantha and now… Now you will bow to me”.

 

He pointed to the floor. Shiera obeyed. Her knees barked as she dropped to the ground.

 

“Lower”.

 

The High Lady slid her body until her brow was in the marbled floor.

 

“Good” he commented. “Now take off your shirt”.

 

Shiera hesitated, realizing where this was going. Why Varik’s belt carried a whip.

 

“Take off your shirt”.

 

Shiera tugged her shirt out of her pants and slung it over her head, tossing it in the floor beside her. Then she removed, her fingers trembling, the flexible cloth around her breasts.

 

“Geir, Arne”. The Fae males came forward. The princess didn’t fight as they each gripped her by an arm and hauled her up. Spread her arms wide. The dark air kissed her breasts, her navel.

 

“Ten lashes, Varik. Let the little princess have a taste of what she lived some months ago”.

 

“It would be my pleasure”.

 

Shiera held Varik’s vicious gaze, willing ice into her veins as he thumbed free his whip. As he raked his eyes over her naked torso and smiled. A canvas for him to paint with blood and pain.

 

“Why don’t you count for us, Cursebreaker?”.

 

Shiera kept her mouth shut.

 

“Count, or we’ll begin again with each stroke you miss. You decide how long this goes on for. Unless you’d rather the handsome male receive these strokes”.

 

No. Never.

 

But as Varik walked slowly, savoring each step, as he let that whip drag along the ground, her body betrayed her. Began shaking. She knew the pain. Knew what it’d feel like, what it’d sound like. Her dreams were still full of it. No doubt why the king had picked a whipping.

 

“Begin” he said. Varik’s breath sucked in. And even bracing herself, even clamping down hard, there was nothing to prepare for the crack, the sting, the pain. She did not let herself cry out, only hissed through her teeth. Blood slid down the back of her pants, her split skin screaming. But she knew how to pace herself. How to yield to the pain. How to take it.

 

“What number was that, princess?”.

 

She would not. She would never count for that rutting...

 

“Start over, Varik” the king spoke.

 

A breathy laugh. Then the crack and the pain and Shiera arched, the tendons in her neck near snapping as she panted through clenched teeth. The males holding her gripped her firm enough to bruise.

 

The king and Varik waited. She refused to say the word. To start the count. She’d die before she did it.

 

“Start over” the king merely ordered over the young female. So Varik did.

 

Again. Again. Again.

 

They started over nine times before Shiera finally screamed. The blow had been right atop another one, tearing skin down to the bone.

 

Again. Again. Again.

 

Twenty.

 

Again. Again. Again.

 

Forty.

 

Varik was panting.

 

Shiera refused to speak.

 

“Start over” the king repeated, “But if you don’t count this time, little princess…”. Before she could realize the whip came again and the blade on Alec’s throat went a bit deeper, small drops of red blood were now on the silver blade.

 

* * *

 

When they finished, the princess was trembling, blood sliding down her mangled back, soaking her pants, her hair, her bare breasts.

 

No one had spoke a word as they whipped her, everyone too shocked and coerced to do anything.

 

So Varik whipped her while the king smiled towards the green-eyes princess. As Rhysand couldn’t do anything but see how the king threatened to rape Shiera, how his mate was being tortured again, how his son’s life could end in a span of a second.

 

The king raised a brow and Shiera finally let out in a broken voice, “One”.


	8. The bond

 “If you’re so willing to hand out bargains” Rhys suddenly said, “perhaps I’ll make one with you”.

  
“Oh?”.

  
Rhys shrugged.

 

No. No more bargains, no more sacrifices. No more giving himself away piece by piece.  
No more. And if the king refused, if there was nothing to do but watch her friends die…  


Shiera could not accept it. She could not endure it, not that. And for Rhys, for the family he had lost for the family he had given Shiera… They had not needed her, not really. Only to nullify the Cauldron. She had failed them. Just as she had failed Nesta and Elain, whose lives she had now shattered…

  
Shiera thought of that ring waiting for her at home. She thought of the ring on Elain’s finger, from a man who would now likely hunt her down and kill her. If Lucien let her leave at all. She thought of Azriel and Cassian joking with Amren, Mor’s smile when she had supported her, Rhys and Alec laughing and smiling together at the wedding… All the things Shiera wanted to paint, and never would.

 

But for them, for her family, for her mate… The idea that did not seem so frightening. And so she was not afraid, only sad. Sad because she would not see Velaris, that wonderful city, her home, until...

  
She dropped to her knees in a spasm, gripping her head as she gnashed her teeth and sobbed, sobbed and panted. The fist of that spell didn’t have time to seize her again as she exploded past it. Shiera unleashed her power, a flash of that white, pure light, all that could escape with the damper from the king’s spell. A flash of the light that was only for Rhys and his family, his son, only because of them. Shiera hoped they understood.

  
It erupted through the room, the gathered force hissing and dropping back.

  
Even Rhys had frozen, the king and queens openmouthed. Nesta, Elain and Lucien had whirled, too.  But there, deep within Day’s light… Shiera gleaned it. A purifying, clear power. Cursebreaker. Spellbreaker. The light wiped through every physical trapping, showing her the snarls of spells and glamours, showing me the way through… She burned brighter, looking, looking… Buried inside the bone-walls of the castle, the wards were woven strong.

 

The princess sent that blinding light flaring once more, a distraction and sleight of hand as she severed the wards at their ancient arteries.

 

Now she only had to play her part. The light faded, and she was curled on the floor, head in her hands.

  
Silence. Silence as they all gawked at her.

  
Even Jurian had stopped gloating from where he now leaned against the wall. But Shiera’s eyes were only on Tamlin as she lowered her hands, gulping down air, and blinked. She looked at the host and the blood and the Night Court, and then finally back at him as she breathed, “Tamlin?”.

 

He didn’t move an inch. Beyond him, the king gaped at the princess. Whether he knew she had ripped his wards wide open, whether he knew it was intentional, was not her concern, not yet. She blinked again, as if clearing her head. “Tamlin?”. She peered at her hands, the blood, and when she beheld Rhys, when she saw his grim-faced family...

 

There was nothing but shock and confusion on Rhys’s face as his mate scrambled back from him. Away from them. Toward Tamlin as phantom hands went to Alec’s gut and tried to heal his worrible wound. “Tamlin” she managed to say again. Lucien’s eye widened as he stepped between Shiera and Elain. The princess whirled on the King of Hybern. “Where...”.  She again faced Rhysand. “What did you do to me?” she cried. Backing toward Tamlin. “What did you do?”.

 

You have to get out, get out of here now. I’m trying to heal Alec but I can’t do it completely here… He needs a true healer. Get him out, heal Azriel, Cassian… Get Nesta and Elain out, please...

 

Play… Please play along. Please…

  
There was no sound, no shield, no glimmer of feeling in their bond. The king’s power had blocked it out too thoroughly. There was nothing Shiera could do against it, Cursebreaker or no.

  
But Rhys lifted a brow, “How did you get free?”. “What?” Jurian seethed, pushing off the wall and storming toward them. But Shiera turned toward Tamlin and ignored the features and smell and clothes that were all wrong. He watched her warily. “Don’t let him take me again, don’t let him, don’t...”. She couldn’t keep the sobs from shuddering out, not as the full force of what she was doing hit her, what she would give up...

 

“Shiera” Tamlin said softly and she knew she had won.

  
She sobbed harder as she thought of that beautiful night sky, of the beautiful rainbow where artists painted… The view of Rhys by her side every morning when they woke up together, curled up against each other in his bed… Their bed now. Her new family, her new home… All vanished and Shiera wept even more.

  
Get out, she begged Rhys through the silent bond. I ripped the wards open for you, all of you. Get out.

 

She felt Alec’s hole closing but not fast enough. He needed a healer, he needed to get out… Hurry, she said to herself.

 

“Don’t let him take me” she sobbed again. “I don’t want to go back”. And when she looked at Mor, at the tears streaming down her face as she helped Cassian get upright, Shiera knew she realized what she meant. But the tears vanished, became sorrow for Cassian as she turned a hateful, horrified face to Rhysand and spat, “What did you do to that girl?”.

  
Rhys cocked his head. “How did you do it, Shiera?”. There was also hurry in his own words, for his son, his brothers… One last game, this was one last game they was to play together.

  
The princess shook her head. The queens had fallen back, their guards forming a wall between them. Tamlin watched her carefully. So did Lucien. So she turned to the king. He was smiling. Like he knew. But she said, “Break the bond”.

  
Rhysand went still as death.

  
Shiera held the king’s gaze as she hugged Tamlin. “Break the bond. The bargain, the… the mating bond. He… he made me do it, made me swear it...” she spoke as her heart broke. “Do it” she begged the king, even as she silently prayed he wouldn’t notice his ruined wards, the door she had left wide open, the wound healing in the Night Court’s heir.

 

“I know you can. Just… free me. Free me from it”. “No” Rhysand said but Tamlin was staring between them. And Shiera looked at him, the High Lord she hated, the male who had slaughtered her mate’s mother, sister and father.

 

“No more. No more death… No more killing”. She sobbed through her clenched teeth. Made  
herself look at Nesta and Elain. “No more. Take me…”. She couldn’t say it, she couldn’t say it but… She had to. “Take me home” she finally let out, “and let them go. Tell him it’s part of the bargain and let them go. But no more… Please”.

  
Alec slowly, every movement pained, stirred enough to look at his father’s mate. And in his pain-glazed eyes, Shiera saw it… the understanding. The Court of Dreams. She had belonged to a court of dreams and dreamers. And for their dreams… for what they had worked for, sacrificed for… She could do it.

  
I love you, I love you, I love you, she said to Rhys one last time, sending it into that stone wall between them.

 

Then looked to Tamlin. “No more”. Those emerald eyes met hers and the sorrow and tenderness in them was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. “Take me home”. Tamlin said flatly to the king, “Let them go, break her bond, and let’s be done with it. Her sisters come with us. You’ve already crossed too many lines”. Jurian began objecting, but the king said “Very well”.

 

Rhys went even paler and Tamlin snarled at him, “I don’t give a shit if she’s your mate. I don’t give a shit if you think you’re entitled to her. She is mine”.

 

Territorial fae bastard… And not in the good-protecting way.

 

Shiera managed to look at her mate, her wonderful and understanding mate. “Everything… Everything you made me feel, everything you have done to me… Everything… I will repay you… Ten times the amount of it”.

 

Rhysand knew that for Tamlin, for Jurian, the king... For them, Shiera’s words meant that she would repay for all the pain she had suffered because of him but Rhys knew, he knew even with a wall between their souls, what Shiera meant indeed. He saw then, all the images of what he had done to her. Smiles, laughs, limitless kisses, an endless love he had gave her…

 

Ten times the amount of them. A promise, a promise that she would find her way back to him, to her home, to her mate.

 

The princess hugged the High Lord of the Spring Court and his hands, warm and heavy, landed on her shoulders again. “Do it” he said to the king. He pointed at Shiera and she screamed. Tamlin gripped her arms as she screamed and screamed at the pain that tore through her chest, her left arm.

  
Rhysand was on the ground, roaring, and she thought he might have said her name, might have bellowed it as she thrashed and sobbed. She was being shredded, she was dying, she was dying…

  
No. No, she didn’t want it, she didn’t want to…

  
A crack sounded in her ears, and the world cleaved in two as the bond snapped.


	9. Leaving

When she opened her eyes, mere seconds had passed. Mor was now hauling away Rhys, who was panting on the floor, eyes wild, fingers clenching and unclenching… Tamlin lifted her left hand. Pure, bare skin greeted him. No tattoo.

 

Shiera was sobbing and sobbing, and Tamlin’s arms came around her. Every inch of them felt wrong. She nearly gagged on his scent.

  
The guard let go of Alec’s jacket collar, pushing him back to his family. Rhys... He crawled, crawled towards his son, his blood splashing on his hands, on his neck, as he hauled himself through it. His rasping breaths sliced into Shiera, her soul as she managed to made deep cuts on her wrists, blood pouring into vials she made with glass and winnowed them into Rhys’ pockets.

 

Heal them, heal them all… But you have to go now… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Please, forgive me. I love you, I love you more than anything.

  
The king merely waved a hand at the High Lord. “You are free to go, Rhysand. Your friend’s poison is gone. The wound and wings on the others, I’m afraid, are a bit of a mess”.

 

Shiera looked, just once, at Rhysand holding his son, and Mor with Cassian and Azriel. They were already looking at the princess, staring at her ruined back, the flesh, bone and blood.. Faces cold, bloody  and enraged. But beneath them… She knew it was love beneath them. They understood the tears that rolled down her face as she silently said good-bye, blinking before sobbing again and burying her face in Tamlin’s chest, her bare breasts against him.

  
Then Mor, swift as an adder, winnowed to Lucien. To Nesta and Elain. To show Rhys what his mate had done, the hole she had blasted for them to escape. She slammed Lucien away with a palm to the chest, and his roar shook the halls as Mor grabbed the females by the arm and vanished.

  
Lucien’s bellow was still sounding as Rhys lunged, gripping Alec, Azriel and Cassian, and he winnowed them all out.

 

The king shot to his feet, spewing his wrath at his guards, at Jurian, for not grabbing Nesta and Elain. Demanding to know what had happened to the castle wards. Shiera barely heard him. There was only silence in her head, her heart. Such silence where there had once been dark laughter and wicked amusement. A wind-blasted wasteland.

 

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to them. “Get her back” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king. A mate, a mate already going wild to defend what was his. Tamlin ignored him. So Shiera did, too. She could barely stand, but she faced the king as he slumped into his throne, gripping the arms so tightly the whites of his knuckles showed. He merely said to the gathered queens, now a healthy distance away, “Begin”. The queens looked at each other, then their wide-eyed guards, and snaked toward the Cauldron, their smiles growing. Wolves circling prey. One of them sniped at another for pushing her, the king murmured something to them all that the princess didn’t bother to hear.

 

Jurian stalked over to Lucien amid the rising squabble, laughing under his breath. “Do you know what Illyrian bastards do to pretty females? You won’t have a mate left, at least not one that’s useful to you in any way”. Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral. Shiera spat at Jurian’s feet. “You can go to hell, you hideous ashole”. Tamlin’s hands tightened on her shoulders. Lucien spun toward her , and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place. But was not panicking at Nesta and Elain had being taken so she said quietly, “We will get her back”.

  
The king cut in over the bickering of the queens, “Where is it?”. Shiera preferred the amused, arrogant voice to the flat, brutal one that sliced through the hall. “You...you were to wield the Book of Breathings” the king said. “I could feel it in here, with…”. The entire castle shuddered as he realized she had not been holding it in her jacket. She just said to him, “Your mistake”. His nostrils flared. Even the sea far below seemed to recoil in terror at the wrath that whitened his ruddy face. But he blinked and it was gone. He said tightly to Tamlin, “When the Book is retrieved, I expect your presence here”.

 

Power, smelling of lilac and cedar and the first bits of green, swirled around Shiera. Readying them to winnow away, through the wards they had no inkling she’d smashed apart but before Tamlin could do anything she met those emerald eyes and begged “Adriata. Please, take me to Adriata before… before going home”.

 

Tamlin seemed to began to protests but he finally nodded when he saw the desperation in the young princess’ green eyes.

 

He nodded and Shiera pressed her forehead to his chest again, knowing what Tamlin liked, to feel like the hero, her protector.

 

Then they were gone.


End file.
